Breathing
by Kyle the Nozy Co-Worker
Summary: A collection of drabbles too short to post on their own. Mainly Legolas & Thranduil centric.
1. Chapter 1

**And, here begins the collection of drabbles and stories too short to be on their own...**

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An apprentice of mine once asked why battles were fought. I was about to respond to the answer when a dirty, grimy stable boy still leading a horse came right up to the apprentice - the youth's eyes flashing with ire. 'Battles are fought to keep people safe.' He said. I did not at first feel as though this was an appropriate answer and I remember feeling disdain for this young child, interrupting his elders and believing to have knowledge superior to mine own.

The apprentice shared my own disdain, it was evident in his eyes. 'You are just a child - what do you know of battles and warriors?' He said.

The child threw back his shoulders and looked the apprentice in the eyes. 'I know enough to know that warriors don't ask why battles are fought. They already know why.'

The apprentice recoiled - as though slapped, and his face flushed red. The boy turned and walked away in the direction of the stables, leading the horse behind him. I froze - in horror, as I saw the King walk out of the stables and swing the boy up into his arms. For the first time I noticed the horse, a tall dark stallion - the light riding sadle encrusted with the small tree emblem of the royal family. I had been talking to the prince.

And suddenly, I felt ashamed. Warrios do not question why battles are fought. They already know why.

Who would've thought that a child would teach the master?

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**Reviews are quite welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

**There Arose Angels by Kyle the Nozy Co-Worker**

**_In Memory of Cathie McShepin : born December 14, 1999 - died September 21, 2009._**

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Salty tears fall down your face, your pale lips quivering, forming silent words that I cannot understand. I feel my heart crumble into pieces as I watch your proud shoulders quaking - your body shaking with the force of your sobs. You bury your face against my chest as I wrap my arms around your waist. "It'll be okay..." I murmur, although it is not true. The words bring no comfort, no hope. My tears mingle with yours as I kiss your head softly. "It'll be okay..."

Your breathing is irregular and your fingertips shake. "She's gone." You whisper - grief and agony staining the words. I want to scream, to yell - to break something. But I can do nothing but hold you close, as though you were the only thing keeping me in this world. But I knew the truth. If I let go, you would fall... and I feared that you no longer had the strength to stand back up. Your once proud shoulders sagged, no longer able to carry the heavy load that was yours. Fresh tears fall - you have suffered and fallen... an angel with broken wings, no longer able to fly.

I did not allow you to weep by her side, to hold her hands that slowly grew cold. I did not want you to see the red stains upon the floor - the tinge of crimson upon her lips. I could not let you see her like this, broken and gone... she is not there. I cannot let you remember your sister like this.

The air is filled with the stench of death as our people bury their own dead. There is silence about us, a grieving silence. Grief for themselves, for us, for others. Once, death was spoken of as though it was a gift to Men. A chance to rest after a weary journey... now it is spoken as a curse. It is our doom to die...

Mournful singing arises from the East and our heads turn towards the sweet and bitter sound. It appeared as though from the midst of darkness, Hell, and death - there arose angels. Their faces were fair and beautiful - shining with the brilliance that was the light of the Elder. They came into what had once been our village - looking as out of place as could be amidst the carcases of orcs and Men. Two elves dismounted from their horses, their golden hair plaited in the braids of a warrior. One raised his hand, calling out in a strange tongue to his soldiers. They - too - came off their horses.

We said nothing - for what was their to say? But they worked side by side with us, the elves singing their gentle songs, as we buried our dead. My beautiful wife - you drew your strength from these fair folk. You wiped your tears away as the golden haired one walked to you - gently bandaging the cuts upon her hands where you had gripped the curved orc blade, in an attempt to save your darling sister. He was silent as he looked into your eyes - and before he left, he touched your shoulders and whispered soft words which neither of us understood. But their was hope and love in those words, and they returned strength to your heart.

They left as quietly as they had come. They left after the last body was buried - after the last orc was burned. After the last home was standing once more and the scent of death was no longer in the air. They left us in wonder and awe - even as our hearts burned with the grief of loss.

We once feared these beings of the Mirkwood - for how can anything live in such darkness and remain untainted? Fearsome warriors they were said to be... but they are more so.

How can anything dark live long in a world inhabited by such beautiful creatures? I see the same question in your eyes - my beloved wife. I kiss you softly as we stand above your sister's fresh grave. There is still love here. And there is hope.

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**Reviews are always nice.**


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